Clark Kent: Man Of Mystery, Lois Lane: Woman Of Appeal
by Metiera
Summary: Clark, the newest reporter with 'The Daily Planet,' harbors the secret he trusts no other woman, aside from his mother, with. How well will Lois keep it?


Lois tried, worked hard not to let hers escape, but it wasn't easy. Those _glasses_, where had he gotten those campy glasses from, straight out of shtick? They were so big, so impossibly laughable, what a perpetual bookworm, with nose sandwiched between the pages of some book, would wear. Had he convinced some unsuspecting eye doctor, an ophthalmologist, optometrist or optician, that he required spectacles by faking poor vision?

His were the best pair of eyes on the planet, magnificent eyes that had nearly driven him crazy before he had mastered how to control their innate, miraculous abilities. The mastery had occurred a long time ago. He was master now, those eyes subservient to his wishes.

Those glasses had to be bogus, those lenses phony, through and through.

Lois covered her mouth with a hand. Clark looked funny but she wasn't about to laugh in his sincere, fine face. He was waiting for her to show him where they wanted him to work. At the moment, he was a journalist without a place to report to. He smiled ever so slightly. He, a journalist? The thought of his being one had never crossed his mind in college.

Journalism was tricky, his use of words had never been all that strong. He preferred fiction over non-fiction. But, he had reconsidered. News reporting would be useful to him. As he had confided to his mother, he needed to keep tabs on the world's pulse. When bad things happened, he needed to know. Where better to be than in a newsroom? The setting would provide him with up-to-the-minute information.

"Clark? Are you okay?"

He blinked himself back into the here and now. "Fine, Lois, just fine. Where do you want me?"

Lois let his leading question ride, for the time being. Anywhere, anytime she could. He was the man of her dreams. _Beautiful man_, she thought, _you decide_…

Calmly, he swept his eyes through the jumping newsroom, satisfied with his giving it the once-over visually. It was all so curious. So many people worked here. Fleetingly, he wondered if he would fit in. He'd never been much good at it, had normally been the odd man out, given his extraordinary background. In this novel setting, he was champing at the bit to find out if he could make a hand-hugging glove envious.

Lois shook her head at him. "Earth to Clark. Where have you flown off to?"

"Huh?" He sounded hoarse, having suddenly developed a deep rasp. What a question. He thought she understood that it was imperative that his true identity remain a well-kept secret. What had come over her? Why was she bringing up the subject that needed to be shrouded in secrecy of his having the ability to fly? Did she not care? She had sworn that she wouldn't tell a soul who he really was. He had thought that she could be trusted.

Was he wrong about her? He didn't want to think so, didn't want to stop thinking of her as someone he didn't have to second-guess.

He really liked this woman, this brave, irrepressible gal.

"Lois," he murmured, all hush-hush. He swooped in like a bird of prey, latched on to her right upper arm and led her off to the side of the bustling newsroom. Directly into her ear he cautioned, "I thought we had an understanding." He sounded sorely dismayed, as though his best friend had betrayed him. Why couldn't she keep this just between them? She had sworn herself to keeping it mum. Did these well-meaning people, yet strangers nevertheless, that he hoped to work among need to be privy to who he really was?

Perceptively, Lois replied, "Of course we do. Why so antsy, Clark?"

Everyone was calling him, '_The Man Of Steel_.' No exaggeration there. He had kicked those malcontents', from his defunct home world, butts in spades. It hadn't been easy, they had nearly defeated him, but in the end, **S**_uperman_, as Lois thought of him as, had been victorious. She knew that the viselike grip he had on her arm wasn't meant to hurt. That knowledge did nothing to mitigate the reality that it did, oh boy did it. She squirmed, trying to loosen his grip.

Clark could be so naïve sometimes. The modest hunk didn't know his own strength at the oddest times. He could change the course of mighty rivers, bend steel in his bare hands. And later…transform a pickle jar into sparkly particulates when a much lighter touch would have spared the jar and its savory contents.

Hours or so from now, Lois knew she was going to have some very well-defined black and blue marks. She bruised easily. She would laugh her bruises off though as she had gotten into the habit of doing. She sighed, head-over-heels about her tall, dark and handsome gentle powerhouse.

"Is there a problem?"

Nodding, the shy extraterrestrial haltingly admitted in a close to inaudible voice, "I thought we agreed that who I am remains our little secret." _Well, it's a really big one, actually_, he thought with a demur smile.

Hurt clouded the good faith lodged within Lois' sparkling eyes. The blue lightness surrounding their pupils seemed to darken. "Of course we did. What makes you think I told _anyone_?"

Lois looked upset. He heard her heart step up its beating. The way her nose's perky nostrils pronouncedly flared when something got under her skin delighted him, but not now they didn't. Their roundness grew before his very troubled eyes. He hemmed and hawed a lot before stating, "Uh…ah, uh. Well." His frown lines deepened. His lower lip got caught against his upper front row of teeth.

"Go on. Spit it out," she challenged.

Shakily, he tried explaining. "The reference you made to…" The volume of his voice dropped way down. A tad inaudibly, he tried beginning again. "My…" He swallowed hard. "Flying…"

Lois gently rolled her eyes, which looked easily amused once again. _What a worrier_, she couldn't help think. But then again, no one had ever been through what he'd been through and had lived to tell. How loveable he was, so ingenuous…so gorgeous. She wanted to scoop him up, take him into her arms right then and there. Concurrently, he appeared so irresistibly sweet and lost. She couldn't resist. She had to touch him, claim his vulnerability, embracing it for herself.

Reaching up to his face with fingers outstretched, she stroked his firm, unblemished cheek. She paused for a moment, then began tapping the pads of her fingers deliberately against his firm cheek. "What about it?" Her feminine wiles at the ready, she grinned at him, looking cryptic. He had volumes to learn about women, but she'd play nice. After all, she wasn't about to lose this amazing man, her superman in every sense of the word. Unthinkable.

She would have to be brain dead, tied into a straitjacket, 'loony-toonies' force-feeding her truth serum before she gave him up. She wasn't nuts; she was holding on to this one.

"Why did you say anything?"

"I didn't say a word. _Honest_. I wouldn't," Lois touted, her face belying her mirth. Clark was being so serious. He had _nothing_ to worry about; she'd never tell, not even if _they_, whoever the mysterious 'they' usually proved to be, tried dragging it out of her. "I'd _never_ rat you out. Of course you know that, Clark. Right?"

"Oh…" He looked as dumbfounded as he could be, as if she were speaking all the languages of Earth fused into one confounding tongue. "Then why did you ask if I'd flown off somewh—"

"Figure of speech. I'm sure you've heard of them." Before saying another word, she suggested, "Let's go someplace more private. Privacy comes at a premium in this madhouse. The snoopiest folks you'll ever want to meet are under this roof. You'll learn."

He nodded, admitting to himself that hers wasn't a bad idea. Though they were out of earshot, they couldn't hear themselves think amid the uproarious din that came with news being hunted up, verified and communicated. Still, Clark preferred knowing just where he could hang his hat, so to speak.

"Do you think you could tell me where I'm going to be in all of this?"

He waved his hands at the purposeful free-for-all.

He looked around them expansively. Easily, he noted a certain fresh-faced young man was yelling something about a cruise ship having engine and electrical troubles 250 nautical miles out from Curacao. The ship was disabled, had been for the past four days in seas that were getting rougher. A tropical depression was brewing. Meteorologists feared that the weather system could develop into a full blown hurricane.

Shipboard, mechanical systems had been compromised, the majority failing. Those aboard lacked fresh running water and basic hygienic surroundings. This was exacerbated by non-operational toilet facilities. Conditions were deteriorating, going from bad to worse. Passengers were panicking. Though help was on the way, the potential for disaster was great unless something was done immediately.

Lois turned to her new beau. "Clark?"

He turned to her, a stalwart look of purpose shining from his intense dark eyes. _Man on a mission_ smoldered within them. He tensed his jaw in conjunction with balling his hands into fists. The pair exchanged several nods, caught up in their knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

"I'm on it, Lois."

"I know you are. Be careful," she stressed, watching him loosen his unbecoming tie. She was going to have to take him shopping. He needed a more professional look. In the next second, off came his glasses. Giving it next to no thought, he handed them off to her. Lois had to ask, she wasn't sure. Quietly, she inquired, "Where's your suit?"

He smiled at her question, knowing right away the suit to which she referred. "I'm wearing it underneath all this." He exposed the symbol the people here regarded as the letter S in several of this planet's languages. Before he left her, he kissed the top of her head. "I won't be long."

Smiling after him, Lois fed back, "I know you won't. I reiterate—be careful."

"Anything for you, Lois."

That got her right in the middle of her heart. "Oh, Clark."

"See ya." He raced off.

Lois waved after him. "See ya, Super-my-man…"


End file.
